Mother Hen
by seriousbiznasty
Summary: This is simply the tale of how Bro adopted Dave, how he raised Dave, and how he fell in love with Dave, starting from the day he found Dave on the side of the road. [For Chris.]


"Well you know what, Dad? Fuck you. Fuck you in the ass with a sandpaper dildo, you fucking cunt discharge. I'm eighteen, and according to the law, you can't do jack shit about it. I'm getting my shit and I'm leaving. And you better not be there when I come to pick up my stuff." You hang up and hastily shove your phone in the pocket of your hoodie. Fucking rat bastard. You take a deep breath and try to calm down as you round the corner to your favorite record shop, a place you always went to to get you mind off of things. What you find, however, is quite the conundrum.

The shop is closed. You huff and run a hand through your gelled hair. Fucking great. You sit on the bench outside and huff again, resting your head in your hands. You need to keep your cool, you couldn't let that fucker get to you. After you calm down, you notice something off about the scene. You heard a sort of quiet whimpering which turns into crying, and look around. Your eyes land on a basket of sorts, it actually looks like a cat bed.  
Your name is Dirk Strider, you are eighteen years of the age, a freelance DJ with potential, and there is a six-month-old baby in that cat bed.

It's small, wrapped in a million and one scraps of rags and blankets. You look around, but the area is well deserted. "Hello," you called out, praying to some sort of God that someone is around. But no, it's just you, just you and the baby. You look down at the kid and reluctantly reach down, encompassing the infant in your arms. "Hey there," you whisper. "What are you doing out here, huh? It's cold." The baby looks up at you with deep rusty eyes, his face an ungodly shade of red. He immediately ceases crying and stares up at you with wonder. "Come on, let's find your parents." You hold the baby close to your chest and set out for the police station that's nearby.

Proper medical treatment was given, an investigation was launched, and the child was found parentless. It was suggested that he should be sent to an orphanage, but you couldn't let that happen. You felt strangely attached to the kid. Maybe it was the fact that he would cry in everyone's arms except for yours, or maybe it was the fact that you felt responsible since you were the one that found him. Whatever it was, you were determined not to give him up. Besides, the orphanages were filled to the brink. It was sad, but true.  
Papers were signed. The date that Dave was found was December 4, 1996. It became his birthday. Ownership was given. It was a battle, but about two months later, you were the legal guardian of David Lee Strider. During that time, Dave had stayed temporarily at a foster home.

Social workers had been crawling around your apartment, looking for any reason possible to take Dave away. You had made sure to put away all your swords and puppets in the attic so you wouldn't hurt Dave.

Then you got him back, and started your life as a parent approximately an hour ago.

The first night is the hardest. You are so thankful that you had decided to take that parenting and child development class in high school, even if it was just to pick up chicks. You learned a lot, though. And you were definitely putting it to use now.  
It's around 8 when you finally manage to get Dave to fall asleep. You haven't assembled the crib yet, so you hold onto him for the night. You stretch out across the couch and hold the baby against you chest. He's so small, so fragile... You look down at his sleeping face, his messy fuzz of dirty blonde hair.

And you're afraid.

You're so afraid for this child. What if you raise him wrong? What if you end up raising him like your dad raised you? You don't want to treat your son like that. It's a terrifying thought. Your worries are all pushed aside when the tyke lazily opens his eyes and stares up at you. It's different with your shades off now. He stares into your bright orange eyes, and grips your finger, then drifts back to sleep. It's then that you know.

You're going to be the best possible guardian you can be, and you aren't going to let anything or anyone harm a single hair on your little brother's head.

You don't know how many times you jumped yourself awake last night, but the morning light streaming through the window wakes you for good, as well as the kid curled up against your chest.

He's whimpering and clutching at your chest, probably hungry and in need of a diaper cha-whoa. Whoa. No. God, the kid reeks...

Well, this is going to be a long morning.

After a diaper change, you set Dave in his high chair. He quietly babbles to himself, examining his hands as you grab some baby cereal from the cabinet. The lady at the hospital said it would be alright to give him solid foods, just nothing too tough. You pull a chair up in front of Dave's high chair, and he looks up at you with a bright face. "Hungry, lil man?" You dish out some cereal onto his little tray, and he instantly grabs it, cramming tiny handfuls into his mouth. "Guess so..." After the second handful, he just stares at you. You haven't grabbed your shades yet, so you stare right back. It's a little competition for a few seconds until Dave caves and grins as big as he can, burying his face into his hands.

That brings a smile to your face. "Oh hey, where did Dave go? Oh no, I lost him!" He giggles and throws his hands away from his face, and you gasp. "There you are!" He squeals and slaps his hands down on his tray, grinning just as big as he possibly can. You take a little piece of cereal, and he automatically opens his mouth. "Oh, you want this?" Dave makes little grabby hands at you, and you feed him. "There you go, kiddo." He finishes up all the cereal he has, and really inspects the tray for more. "What are you doin, kid? Still hungry?"

You get up and move back into the kitchen, grabbing a small container of apple sauce and the smallest spoon you have. You take your seat once more and scoop up a bit. "Alright, Davey. Ahhhh." You open your mouth wide, and he does the same. But right as you're about to feed him, he snaps his mouth closed and giggles. "You lil shit," you say with a smile. "Ahhhh!" you say again, and he opens his mouth. You manage to feed him this time, and you pull the spoon away. He scrunches up his face and shakes his head real fast, hitting the tray and kicking his legs. You laugh a little and push your hair out of your face. "That good, huh?" He opens his mouth once more, and you shrug, feeding him all the apple sauce he wants. "Guess that was a good thing..." You scratch your shirtless chest and set the sauce down on his tray. "Wanna feed yourself?" You put the spoon in his hands, and he takes off. He misses his mouth completely the first time, getting a little apple sauce down his cheek, and you laugh, wiping it up with a washcloth. "We can both take a bath later."

There's a knock at the door, and you look down at yourself. You're wearing boxers, it should be fine. You grab your shades and kiss the top of Dave's head, then slide them on and answer the door.

It's a woman. And she's beautiful. Probably a couple of years older than you, with bright blonde hair and black lips. "Can I help you?" you ask. "Yes, uh..." She looks down at the slip of paper she's holding. "Dirk Strider?" You lean against the doorframe. "Yeah, that's me. What can I do ya for?" The woman holds out her hand. "I'm Roxy. Roxy Lalonde. You... you took in my child." You stare at her for a second. So this is the woman that just dropped her kid off on the side of the road? She drops her hand and clears her throat. "I know what you must think of me. But I didn't leave my child on the curb to die."  
"Yeah, I believe that. I found him near some bushes, not on the curb."  
"His father was supposed to take him to the orphanage. I was busy taking care of the other o-"  
"You have a kid?"  
"Yes. I planned Rose, but I couldn't take care of Dave... It was the hardest choice of my life giving him up."

You're quiet for a minute, then you step out of the doorway. She nods and comes in. Once you both get a glance at the 6-month-old with apple sauce all over his face, you both smile. "I heard you decided to rename him on the news," Roxy says as she moves over to him. You scratch the back of your head and stretch, plopping down back in front of Dave. He grins at you and then looks up at his mother, bouncing and jabbering away at her. "Yeah, they want us to go down to the news station for an interview later today... I've already gotten a bunch of stuff donated. Which is good, because I'm low on cash at the moment. I didn't buy any of this."

You work at cleaning up Dave's mess, and Roxy holds her arms out. "May I?" You shrug. "He's your kid." She picks him up and he instantly squeals and clings to her, just jabbering away. "We just called him Nate. But I like Dave better. Hello, Dave," she coos to him, and he coos right back. "Maaaa ma ma ma! Maaa ma ma."  
"Oh, really now?"

You watch with your arms crossed, a small smile on your lips. "So what's your kid like?"  
"Her name's rose. She's with a sitter right now, I wasn't sure if I should bring her over or not..."  
"You should definitely bring her next time."

Roxy looks up at you with a bit of a surprised expression. "Next time?" You nod. "I can't do this by myself. Plus, I think Dave would want his mother to be around." Speaking of the little devil, he holds his arms out to you, and Roxy hands him over. "That would be so wonderful of you, Dirk. I would really appreciate it." You shrug. "It's not a big deal. Just give me a call before you come over. Or I can go over to your place or something." Roxy grins and hugs you and Dave both, kissing both of your cheeks. "Thank you so much, Dirk!"  
"Seriously, no problem. But right now, Dave and I need to bathe."

The adults exchange numbers and Roxy is on her way. Dave grabs at your shades and tugs them off, and you take them and set them aside. "Alright, kiddo. Bath time."


End file.
